


Fill Me Up

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Geralt only knows how to give, and give, until he's empty. What is he to do with Jaskier, who only wants to give back to him?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 141





	Fill Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing that demanded to be written.

Geralt doesn’t know what to do with Jaskier.

Nobody’s cared before just because they could. They always want something. A piece of him that they take without asking, promising they’ll give it back but they never will. Leave him in the dust, bloodied, hurting, empty. 

He’s a pitcher of water for the dehydrated. Drink, and drink, until he’s empty. They’ll never refill him. 

A witcher isn’t supposed to care. They’re also not supposed to be cared for. 

He spent a century alone and wandering, his company a horse and the dust that kicks up under her feet, the monsters that try to rip him to shreds - make him a meal to fill their empty stomachs. The sword on his back a guarantee of life alone, living on the edges, giving but never receiving. 

Just enough coin to make sure he doesn’t starve, but no more than that. Enough to make sure he’ll come back for the monsters that hurt him. Just enough to let him know when he’s not wanted. 

But then there’s Jaskier.

What is he to do with a man who doesn’t want a beast killed? A man who wants to shape himself into every hole punched through Geralt’s innards until he forgets what loneliness is?

_I want you, I need you, but if I lose you the same as all the others, I won’t survive it. What am I to do with you?_

“Shh.” Jaskier presses a gentle kiss to Geralt’s eyelids. Straddles his lap, presses him into the bedroll, looming above him. So luminous the sun, the stars, the moon - they all weep with envy. But they can never have what Jaskier has. No one can. But Jaskier hands himself to Geralt, a jewel in a sea of stones. “Don’t think. Take from me what you want, Geralt. I am yours, as you are mine.”

How is he to take when he only knows how to give? There are pieces inside of him he hasn’t removed yet. Will Jaskier want those? 

Bare flesh under his hands, warm from friction. Hot breath on his face. An eager clench of bare thighs around his own.

“Don’t think,” Jaskier tells him again. “Just act. There is no wrong answer here. I am yours.”

“You’re mine,” Geralt breathes into the skin of his neck. 

For the first time in a century, he takes.

And the wounds inside of him begin to heal. 


End file.
